


Not exactly a friend

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e03 The Galatea Affair, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: glamour, sky blueOther agents are interested to discover that newcomer Mark Slate used to know Illya.Precedes "Friends, Russians, Countrymen" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099009), and Series 3's Galatea Affair





	Not exactly a friend

“That must be the English guy – we should invite him over and introduce ourselves. George, you go and ask him.”

The ever-willing and obliging George stood up and went to speak to the gangling individual standing looking around, tray in hand. The others watched George introduce himself and offer to shake hands. The Englishman shifted his tray onto his left hand and took the proffered hand, then followed George over to their table.

“Fellers, this is Mark Slate,” said George. “Mark, meet Section Three’s best.”

“That was a neat trick with the tray,” said Ken, seeing how loaded the tray was, and added, “you must be hungry.”

“Very. Long time since I last ate anything.”

“Looks like Mr Kuryakin has competition,” said Sam, also looking at the contents of the tray.

Slate had sat down smiling at each of them as they introduced themselves, but now frowned. “Kuryakin?” He said. “Would that be _Illya_ Kuryakin? Little Russian chap with blond hair. Is he working for UNCLE?”

“Sure. You know him?”

“I do know him – we were at Cambridge together,” said Slate. “Is he here now?”

“Yup. Section Two, of course. Our first Russian. He and Napoleon Solo are partners.”

“Napoleon Solo?”

“Our glamour boy – you _must_ have heard of him.”

“I have indeed – one of Mr Cutter’s favourites. So, he’s Kuryakin’s partner.” Slate started to eat, watched curiously by three pairs of eyes.

“You eat like Kuryakin, too,” George commented.

Mark looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Knife in the right hand, fork in the left, food balanced on the wrong side. I’ve never dared ask Kuryakin about it, but – isn’t that counterproductive?”

“It’s how I was taught. I’ve always done it. I expect he had to learn it at Cambridge.”

“Can I ask a personal question?” said Sam.

Mark blinked – the previous comment had been a _bit_ personal. “Certainly,” he said.

“I thought English people all dropped their aitches and talked like – who’s that guy in the Mary Poppins movie?”

Mark laughed. “That was the worst cockney accent I’ve ever heard,” he said. “Nothing like a real cockney. And no, whether someone drops their aitches depends on their regional accent. I speak what is called ‘received pronunciation’.”

This was met with blank stares. Mark was now getting used to this particular misunderstanding of the nature of English accents. “It’s how the educated classes speak – we don’t drop our aitches – though admittedly that’s changing a bit.”

“Kuryakin speaks like an educated Englishman, a bit,” said Ken.

“Yes, he would. When I first knew him, his Russian accent was much stronger. He must have worked hard to get rid of it because when he left Cambridge, he’d lost most of it.”

“You don’t talk like that English actor – what’s his name? – George Sanders. Nor does Kuryakin. Isn’t that ‘received pronunciation’?”

“That’s a very posh accent – how the upper classes speak. I’m upper-middle class.” This was met with more blank stares. “Illya, of course, is foreign. Not part of the English class system. No-one cares about his parentage or where he went to school.”

Nor did anyone at the table. Conversation drifted into other matters until they spotted an elegant figure getting a coffee. “Hey, Napoleon!” George called across the room. Napoleon turned and smiled. He walked over to their table and they made room for him. Introducing him to Mark Slate, they informed him that the newcomer was a friend of Illya’s.

“Does Illya know you’re here?” Napoleon asked, shaking hands with Slate.

“I’ve no idea. He’s …not exactly a friend. Perhaps I’ll come and find you later, if I may. It would be good to see the little chap again.”

Napoleon made no outward response to this remark – he regarded patronising comments about his partner as his sole prerogative – but simply said, “We won’t be there – we have an assignment. Talking of which, I’d better go. See you when I get back.”

They watched his receding figure and admired that beautifully cut, pale grey suit with its subtle sky-blue pinstripe. “Well-dressed chap,” Slate remarked. His companions at the table were all wearing suits – he stood out a little in his corduroy trousers and leather jacket.

“Better dressed than anyone in the building. It’s a mystery how he puts up with Kuryakin – you often see him covered in dust or worse, and his suits … definitely utilitarian compared with Napoleon’s,” said Ken.

“I think he rolls in something every day – like a dog,” said George.

They left Slate to finish his lunch in peace, and to consider how to approach the little Russian whom he had formerly known as an extremely prickly individual and with whom he had had a _very_ distant relationship. He had a feeling he hadn’t got off on the right foot with Kuryakin’s partner either. He’d just have to wing it and hope for the best.    

<><><> 

Well, he’d winged it, and failed. Too merry and bright in his greeting for such a frigid personality. Kuryakin had been very cool, very distant. Still, he probably wouldn’t have to work with him. He’d never be paired with him. At least, he hoped not.

<><><><> 


End file.
